"He tries so hard. Always has." Her eyes went distant, somewhere else entirely. "Even when he was little. Always trying to help me fix things."
She went quiet and I didn't push. Just sat there holding her hands while the rain hammered the windows.
"I had this rosebush," she said finally. "Bill got it from the market for me. Beautiful thing. But it never bloomed. I tried everything… fertilizer, different spots in the yard. Nothing really worked."
She stared at our joined hands.
"Matthew must've been ten or eleven. He'd see me out there, fussing with it. And one day he just started watering it for me. Every day after school. Came in with his hands all muddy, so proud." Her voice cracked. "He'd say, 'I watered it, Mom. It's gonna bloom soon, you'll see.'"
A tear slid down her cheek.
"But it never did." She looked up at me. "Bill finally said... he said, 'Carol, it's the wrong soil. It's never going to bloom here.' And I got so angry at him. Because I'd put so much into it. Matthew had put so much into it."
Tears prickled my eyes.
"But he was right." Carol's thumb brushed over my knuckles. "Wasn't the rose's fault. Wasn't my fault either. Just... wrong place for it."
The room felt too small.
"I planted a different one the next spring," she whispered. "And that one took right away. Beautiful blooms every year."
She drifted after that. Stared past me at something I couldn't see. I sat there on the floor, hands still in hers, understanding exactly what she'd given me without meaning to.
Wrong soil. Not anyone's fault.
Dad came back with tea and set it on the coffee table. He caught my eye, saw the tears on my face, but didn't ask. Carol blinked, seemed to surface, then looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time.
"Elena?"
"I'm here."
"Where's Matthew? I need to find him."
"I'm going to call him right now." I stood, pulled my phone from my pocket. My hands were shaking.
"You'll tell him I'm here?"
"I will."
I walked into the kitchen. Stood there for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, and then I scrolled through my contacts list until I found his number.
He answered on the first ring. "Elena?"
"Your mom's here. At my dad's house." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "She's okay."
I heard him exhale, broken and relieved all at once. "Thank God. I've been—" He stopped. "Is she hurt?"
"No. Cold and confused, but she's safe. We've got her warm."
"I'm twenty minutes out. I'll be right there."
"Okay."
A pause.
"Elena. Thank you. I don't—thank you."
I closed my eyes. "Just get here safe."
